Lost Innocence: The Accused. Part One

by Simon Palmer



  Lost Innocence

  Part One

  ‘The Accused’

  Simon Palmer

  Copyright (c) 2014 by Spanking Pulp Press

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by James Hollister at Pixel fox

  Photography by Bordin Vamanond

  Models: Chris Wegoda and Narmfah Fn’z

  Edited by Dan O’Shea, Tracey Hale, John Daysh and Alan Hoff

  Content Edit by James A. Newman

  Copy Edit by Richard Ayres and John Daysh

  Final proof read by Alasdair McLeod

  Additional material and writing assistance from Alasdair McLeod, Conrad Jones, John Mathews, Stephen Leather, Mitchell Blake, Warren Olson, Greg Noonan, Barry Palmer, James A. Newman, John Daysh and Alan Hoff

  “A fast-paced novel based on events unfolding in Bangkok, has me eagerly looking forward to Palmer’s next work.”

  -Warren Olson Author of Thai Private Eye

  “I picked up Lost Innocence and read over a hundred pages in one hit. Intoxicating addictive writing and just the beginning from this highly talented writer. Can’t wait for the next one,”

  -Conrad Jones Author of Soft Target

  LOST INNOCENCE PART ONE ‘THE ACCUSED’

  ONE

  I WAS LAZING on the golden sands on the south-west coast of Thailand, the blazing sun beating down on my body. The view as I gazed out over the vast expanse of the Andaman Sea was breath-taking. The subtle, salty scent of the sea engrossed me; the serenity of the still blue waters only broken by the sound of the waves lapping against the rocks.

  I reached for my bag, searched for my book and was about to begin the latest Conrad Jones crime- thriller, when my eyes met those of a struggling hawker. She was well covered up and wore an old, straw hat over a tired, bronzed face.

  A sharp pang of sympathy rattled inside of me. I didn’t have the heart to wave her away and found myself pointing to some fruit that I didn’t really want. I dug deep for some change, paid and smiled as she handed me some sliced melon in a bag with a pointed stick. She thanked me, gathered up her wares then strolled off on her way down the beach.

  I returned to my book and was surfing through the pages when it suddenly felt hot. Can we turn it down to tropical? A bead of sweat rolled down my nose, stopped then dropped onto a page. I wiped it away, squinted up at the sun and strained my eyes. A rank stench in the air then aroused my attention and looking around I couldn’t tell what that was or where it was coming from.

  My parched throat and desert-dried lips cried out for water. I scrambled in the sand for my bottle, but couldn’t find it. I stretched down for my things - my bag was gone and so were the melon and my book. I lay back for a moment when the back of my head brushed up against somebody’s feet. I turned to apologize, but couldn’t be more shocked; the beach was now packed. So many dirty, stinking bodies, laying crammed together within so little space.

  I covered my ears as a cacophony erupted in a language I didn’t understand. Then the stench struck again. It was stronger than before and this time I recognized it. It smelt like human waste mixed with stale sweat, repulsive body odour and cheap cigarettes. I glanced around to see who was smoking; everybody was.

  Something smooth and oily ran under my right hand. It felt like a cockroach, it was a cockroach. I shuffled back and watched it scuttling off. I thought it was gone, but then another appeared and then more. I brushed them away and what was once golden sand was now a dark, hard, filthy floor. My body started to tremble - my nerves were on edge.

  I glanced up at the sky but all I could see now, was thick black smoke. I coughed uncontrollably until the smog finally cleared and several stained panels emerged with flickering strip lights. The sky had transformed into a filthy ceiling, the beach a neglected cell, crammed to complete capacity.

  Trauma and terror possessed me as I realized I had to face this reality and deal with the torment all over again. My mind had been playing tricks on me, creating a mirage of a beach, a mirage of freedom. I was in the worst-place-in-the-world. I was in a Thai prison.

  I was in Hell.

  Horrid memories of this living nightmare began to resurface; that first day when the cell door swung closed; the complete helplessness of being locked up. I couldn’t have been more terrified as three heavily tattooed guards with shaved heads and beer-breath had taken hold of me, dragged me outside, held me firm and stripped me. I hadn’t struggled. I’d just stood there naked; the fear of being raped had restricted any movement. I was bent over by two guards while the third parted my butt-cheeks, reached in and shoved his latex covered finger up as far as he could. I jerked forward, stifling my screams as somebody squeezed my balls, hard – it hurt. They had supposedly been checking for drugs but more likely just enjoying the sadistic infliction of pain.

  A coughing fit brought me back to the present and I glanced up to see a thick blanket of smoke circling above me. Prisoners were smoking then dropping their smouldering butts between the cracks in the floor. They lay, still burning below me, smoke drifting up as I feared burning alive or suffocating from smoke. My throat felt sore and my pounding heart continued beating through every inch of my being. I needed water. I needed to get out.

  I was the only foreigner or farang as we were known here and although we were packed in so tightly, I had never felt so alone. The heat was so oppressive and the stench was so rank, that I almost threw up - twice. A creaking noise distracted me and glancing up I saw a worn-out ceiling fan wobble as it spun round. It was hanging on by two rusty screws and looked like it could fall at any time. My sweat-dampened clothes clung to my body and the pain of lying on such a hard, wooden floor was horrendous. It was thick with dirt, covered in blood stains and other stains I couldn’t identify and didn’t dare to try. Most of the others had a bed-roll to sleep on; I only had the floor.

  Bugs continued to torment me; it seemed they were waiting for me to sleep or die so they could feast on my body. I fought them off but it was exhausting and futile. Some sampled my blood while others defecated, leaving foul traces of their presence. My mind began playing tricks on me; it was as though even when they weren’t there, I could still feel them crawling all over me.

  A man with a faded tattoo of an eagle on his chest was holding a syringe and sucking something into it. He stuck a needle into his friend’s arm, drew some blood, then combining the two substances, he injected the mix back into the emaciated arm; all the while his friend gazed, sickly into space.

  After several long, drawn-out hours, the yelling subsided and I noticed most of the others trying to sleep. The thick fog of smog was beginning to clear and my fear began to yield to fatigue. As I closed my eyes, images of my family calmed me and for the briefest moment I had escaped. Amidst all this chaos, the thought of them may have been the only thing keeping me from going insane. I fell asleep.

  A wave of guilt crashed down and woke me as I thought about my mother. It was her rule that this being the first time I was away, I would ring her every Wednesday. With all that had happened this week, I had forgotten to phone home.

  TWO

  LOUISE WAS SITTING in her spacious kitchen with her hands wrapped around a
hot mug of caramel coffee. An attractive woman in her fifties, she had grape-green eyes and sunset-yellow hair.

  Her husband burst in, eyes darting all over the room. “I’m late and I can’t find my keys.”

  Stan had short, bear-brown hair, Sinatra-blue eyes and a bent nose. He was of a similar age to his wife, had taken reasonably good care of himself and had retained his boyish looks and charm. “Lou darling - have you seen my keys?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Try the coffee table.”

  He rushed out and returned moments later, jangling his keys triumphantly. He leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. “What ever would I do without you?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “Is everything okay dear?”

  “Michael didn’t call me yesterday.”

  “Should he have?”

  “Yes, every Wednesday. I told you that.”

  “He probably just forgot.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, it’s just—”

  “What?” Stan asked, waiting for a chance to sneak a peek at his watch.

  “It’s so unlike him not to call.”

  “Then call him, dear. There’s no harm in that.”

  “I did already; no answer. I hope he’s okay.”

  “Try him again later….I really must run.”

  Stan waited for the approving nod from his wife then slipped out of the door.

  THREE

  TIME STOOD still and sweat dripped off my body as I fell in and out of consciousness; this had to be one of the longest, most uncomfortable nights of my life. I shuffled around, trying to sleep and just as I was finding some peace, a piercing bell rang loudly in my ear. The others woke; the unbearable cacophony erupted once more and seemed even louder than before. Everybody reached for their cigarettes, lit up, took a long drag then blew smoke up into the air.

  Once I was done coughing my lungs out, I wiped my eyes then started to stretch. Startled by several offended bugs, dropping from my shorts, I watched, shocked as they hurried away in different directions. My head was still sore from the heat and my aching body was now suffering as much as my nerves.

  It wasn’t long before the cell door slowly opened and three surly guards stood at the entrance. The inmates finished their smokes, rose and packed away their things into the corner of the room. I had nothing; not even a pair of flip-flops for my feet.

  We were filed out and escorted through a dark, dingy hallway until arriving at a metal doorway that had more locks than Fort Knox. It was unlocked then pulled open with a creak. We stepped single-file down some broken steps to a yard and were met with the harsh humidity of Bangkok. My feet were black from the dirt and burnt on the hot stone of the sun-scorched yard. I took a breath of foul air. It tasted of shit, smelt like rotting garbage, but it was still good to be outside.

  I saw some small, metal sheds to the left, an over-crowded rubbish area to the right and at the back were suspended troughs filling with water. I licked my lips and tried to control my raging thirst.

  Following the others into a cramped dining shed, I took a metal tray and got in line. Two inmates, one with a ripped ear, the other with acne, stood behind a small table and dished out what they referred to as food. I was served a small scoop of brown rice with tiny squares of cabbage. Finding a table on its last legs, I brushed away some lively ants and sat alone. The rice smelt of burnt rubber, the cabbage was tasteless but it was food and I was famished.

  After breakfast I walked over to the back of the yard, found a plastic bottle and filled it up from the trough. Warm, dirty water ran down my arm as I drank. It tasted like cat’s-piss, but it was water and I was parched.

  The others were stripping off, taking a bowl from a man with brown hair and beady eyes then stepping over to the troughs to wash. Following suit, I pulled off my sweaty clothes and stood naked feeling eyes on me. I tried to hide my modesty with my bottle and made my way over. ‘Beady Eyes’ held out his hand. I shook my head. He grunted, took a pen, scribbled something on his hand then handed me a bowl with a crack down the middle. I nudged my way in amongst the naked bodies and held my place. I reached up and scooped a bucket of water. It wasn’t clear or clean and smelt like a sewer.

  I was about to splash the water over myself when I felt a strange tickling sensation on my foot. I backed away and witnessed a huge, greasy brown rat dashing off. I screamed, the others laughed - my wash was over before it had begun. I returned the bowl to ‘Beady Eyes,’ climbed back into my clothes and stepped away from the crowd.

  I came across a cracked piece of mirrored-glass glued to the wall and stopped, saddened by the image that greeted me. My eyes looked heavy and tired; the blue had faded to grey and wrinkles I hadn’t had before were now stretched over my forehead. My face was filthy and my hair seemed thicker, probably from the dirt.

  Wondering what we were supposed to do now, I observed the others. Some were sat on the floor playing cards, others were gambling; throwing stones against the wall, some were sleeping on the floor like strays and others stood around talking.

  As the sun grew stronger, I could feel it burning the sides of my arms and jabbing at the back of my neck. The Thais were unfazed but I was concerned and searching for shade. There didn’t seem to be any shade and the sheds were now locked, so I resorted to sitting on the floor with my head down; one hand fending off mosquitoes, the other protecting my skin. It wasn’t long before I grew hot, hungry and lonely. I feared sunstroke, starvation and insanity.

  It felt like hours until the sheds were unlocked. I stumbled in for some food and was served some watery, vegetable soup by ‘Ripped Ear.’ It tasted of a sickly, sour-stew and smelt like gasoline. I finished quickly to avoid the taste, stepped over to the trough and filled my broken bottle.

  It wasn’t long before we were summoned back inside. I followed the others to our cell and it was made clear that we should return to the exact same spot as before. I remembered roughly where I’d sat; searched for my neighbour, but couldn’t find him. Everybody was now in their place but me.

  I stepped over the others, looked around and finally found my guy. I knelt down, eased back into my patch of dirty floor then felt something crawling up my leg. I shook off an angry cockroach and gained the attention of an old guy with oily hair and a flat, boxer’s nose. He was sitting with a lady-boy who wore heavy make-up over a masculine face. She had anorexic legs, scrawny knees and was kitted out in a short, sleazy, red dress.

  “You want blow job?” ‘Boxer’s Nose’ offered.

  I shook my head as ‘Scrawny Knees’ lowered her eyes to my groin. ‘Boxer’s Nose’ laughed, slipped down his shorts then pulled ‘her’ head down onto him. He fixed his eyes on me as ‘she’ sucked him. I looked away.

  Another man with a bushy beard was scooping up bugs from the floor, tossing them into his mouth and then swallowing them whole. If he missed, they ran down his beard to escape. He was quick, he would catch them, follow the same routine and they’d eventually meet their fate.

  A prolonged churning in my gut along with bowel movements alerted me that I had to go. This would be my first time to use ‘the hole’ and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I rose to my feet, stepped over the others and arrived at the dirtiest, smelliest hole I’d ever seen. Bugs were everywhere. I kicked them away, they came back – I gave up. I held my nose, took another look - I couldn’t go. I was about to return to my place when my bowels rumbled then roared. I turned back, slipped down my shorts and folded my body into an undignified squatting position. I balanced, closed my eyes and tried to ignore the attention I was getting from the others.

  Distracted by some strange, screeching noises beneath me, I dreaded to think what it was, clenched my bowels with urgency and finally managed to evacuate them.

  Concerned by the thick, runny texture of my stool, I was more disturbed by the lack of any toilet paper, but blown-away by the half-filled bucket of water placed to the left. It smelt as if a dead animal had died inside and was dec
omposing at the bottom - it probably was.

  My legs began to shake then ache from all the squatting and I knew I had to end this episode somehow. After a slow count of three, I quickly wiped my backside with the back of my hand, dunked it in the bucket, twice, shook it dry then pulled up my shorts. I stepped over the others, slightly relieved and returned to my place.

  After another long night and very little sleep, I found myself out in the yard. Breakfast had been dreadful and the bugs as restless as ever. I’d spent most of the morning brushing them away then feeling completely exhausted, I’d fallen asleep.

  I was in the midst of a dream when I was awoken by someone kicking at my feet. I wiped my eyes and glanced up at a heavily tattooed man through the rays of the sun. He was stocky and had a mean-looking face with blood-shot eyes - he looked high.

  I thought it best to turn away but when I did, he started screaming at me in Thai. My heart raced as another tattooed man turned up with uneven eyes, black teeth and a bent nose. He glared down at me with a hostile stare and smiled evilly as the other Thai continued to scold me.

  The shouting suddenly ceased. I scanned the yard for a guard – no guard. Unsure of what they wanted; I listened as they talked. ‘High’, then pulled down his shorts and hung his manhood inches from my face. Reaching for the back of my head, he took a firm grip and pulled me into position. I held my mouth shut tight and turned my head away. ‘Black Teeth’ made a fist and struck me hard on my head – it hurt. I reached up to protect myself and was almost crying as I waited the inevitable, too afraid to fight.

  I was struck again – it stung. I turned my head to face ‘High’ and felt the tip of his manhood rub up against my lower-lip. My mouth stayed shut. I closed my eyes and braced myself – nothing happened.

  I heard some Thai spoken but it wasn’t from my attackers, it was in a softer tone. I opened my eyes and saw a farang was now sat on the floor next to me. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to the Thais. ‘High’ pulled up his shorts, snatched the whole pack then strolled away with ‘Black Teeth.’

  The farang turned to me, raised his hand to my shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Are you alright?”

  I sat there still shaking. “I will be.”

  “Take a minute to calm down.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “No problem mate. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Michael.” I reached out my hand to his. He took it and shook it. “I’m John.”

  He had a sympathetic, honest look about him, fair hair, deep brown eyes and a small, firm build. I guessed by the light wrinkles on his forehead and the occasional grey hair that he was in his forties.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “I was moved from another cell.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Ten years. Have you just arrived?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “It takes time to adjust.”

  “How has it been for you?”

  “Tough. The heat, the lack of decent food and never enough water, I was ready to give up.”

  “What got you through it?”

  “I met a guy who introduced me to Buddhism. It showed me a new appreciation of life.”

  “Sounds like a worthwhile religion.”

  “It’s not a religion if you follow it right. It’s kept me alive. Have you ever tried meditation?”

  “I can’t say I have.”

  “It will calm you; help distract you for a while. Would you like to try?”

  “I guess we have time.”

  “We have nothing but time.”

  John smiled then suddenly looked serious as he began. “Straighten your back and breathe as deeply and as slowly as you can.”

  I couldn’t focus. My grandfather came to mind; this would be the sort of mantra he’d rehearse.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Better thanks, but my mind keeps drifting.”

  “It will at first.”

  “Can we try this again later?”

  “No problem mate. What came to mind?”

  “….My granddad, Nigel. He’s into meditation.”

  “Sounds like an interesting guy. It’s good that you have family to focus on while you’re here.”

  I flinched at a cockroach. John laughed. “You’ll get used to all the bugs.”

  “What about infections?”

  “You stay strong physically and mentally, your body will take care of itself and meditation can help cool you down…..how you doing for money?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “You contacted your embassy?”

  “I haven’t, no.”

  “They would have been informed. They’ll send you some cash while you’re inside. It may take a while, but if you leave your ATM card with a guard, he will eventually sort you out.”

  “I don’t have my card and I already owe a guy.”

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  “Thanks. I’ll pay you back when I can.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “How long you in for?”

  “I got life.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “I’ll tell you why I’m here if you really want to know, but I warn you right now, I’m not an innocent man. I’m serving time for my crime.”

  “Have you made many friends?”

  “Not really and I can speak Thai.”

  “Has that helped?”

  “I can talk my way out of trouble.”

  “What do the Thais think about us?”

  “Not much, but they think we have money.”

  “What if we don’t?”

  “You don’t do well without it, not here.”

  “I’ve seen vouchers. How do they work?”

  “Almost everything is paid for with vouchers or coupons that you buy from a guard.”

  “How are the guards?”

  “Lazy bastards that have trusted inmates called ‘trusties’ or ‘blue-shirts’ working for them.”

  “Do they ever get rough?”

  “Not if you pay. The poorer inmates are beaten.”

  “That’s sad. What can you do about that?”

  “I find its best not to get involved and besides it’s so hot out here, it never lasts long.”

  “Can you buy sun cream?”

  “No sun cream or condoms, just in case you’re looking at the lady-boys. There’s plenty of AIDS lingering about and every STD you can imagine.”

  “Can I at least get a razor and a tooth brush?”

  “You can buy disposable razors, toothbrushes, paste, soaps and similar stuff at a stall near the laundry. They open it every Friday.”

  “What about toilet paper?”

  “I’ve never seen that in here. Thais don’t use it.”

  “You never told me why they moved you here.”

  “I pay a guard so I can move every few months. I’ve been looking for someone to talk to.”

  “I’m glad you arrived. I was about to be raped.”

  “It looked that way and don’t ever cry in here. You show weakness, you will get raped.”

  As the sun poured down, we talked about the rules of the prison, or rather he talked and I listened. I was glad to have found a friend.

  “That’s enough about that,” he concluded. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

  I considered sharing and figured I should tell him something. “You want the long or the short?”

  “What do you think?”

  FOUR

  “I WAS decent at sketching at school but when I floated the idea of attending Art school, my dad wasn’t keen. He didn’t appreciate my gift but I stymied him when I was awarded a scholarship to one of the most prestigious Art colleges in London.

  I had a few months before my first term and decided on a trip to Thailand. My plan was to sketch ‘Working girls’ that worked the seedy hostess bars of Bang
kok. I liked the look of them and had seen enough online to send my libido off the Richter scale.

  Within days of arriving, I rented a real studio and it didn’t take long to find the bars. I saw an interesting looking place, local to me and stepped inside. A girl wearing a long, red evening-gown with a slit in the side caught my attention. Her face was made-up nicely and her eyes had a look of a dreamy sadness. Her curvy body was to lust for; her hair was long and black – I was drawn to her. I met Mon the mamasan, paid the bar-fine and waited while Bee changed.

  She appeared a few minutes later in a pair of ripped jeans and a short, tangerine t-shirt that barely reached her belly button. I took her home in a taxi and directed her to the bathroom to change. I placed my sketchpad on its easel, searched through my pencils and selected two of a similar shade.

  I waited a while then leaning my head to one side; I caught a glimpse of her in the bedroom kicking off her jeans. She stood there in a tight pair of tiger panties that stretched over her taut buttocks - I couldn’t help but stare. She pulled her t-shirt over her head and unclipped her tiger bra exposing her upturned breasts. She slid down her panties revealing a tiny path of pubic hair and then tossing her clothes onto the chair; she stepped over to the bed and slipped between the sheets.

  She saw me watching her, grinned cheekily then turned back the top sheet, inviting me to join her. My heart was racing. I had the most beautiful girl in my bed waiting for me, but all I could think about was sketching her.

  I walked over, held out a towel and waited as she wriggled into it. I led her to the studio and sat her on a stool facing me. She watched as I began sketching her, but couldn’t keep still. I offered her a whisky Cola and after several sips, she relaxed.

  I sketched her for hours, pausing only to loosen my wrists, change pencils or take a drink. When I was ready, I showed her what I’d done. She smiled, took a picture on her mobile then sent it to a friend.

  We worked all night, finishing in the early hours of the morning. I paid her a couple of thousand, put her into a taxi, returned to my studio then rolled into bed. Against my better judgement I had allowed her beauty and innocent charm to burn into my brain – I knew I had to see her again.

  Over the next weeks, I took Bee and other girls back and my pencil came alive when I did. I slept most days, worked tirelessly through the nights and it wasn’t long before my studio was filled with sketches depicting, what I considered to be some of the most beautiful bar-girls in Bangkok.

  One evening I was invited to take a girl I’d never seen her before called Mia. She had long, brown hair and a firm figure that curved in all the right places. She moved warily as if experience had taught her that and watching her glide towards me made me think of honey dripping from a spoon. She looked a little younger than the rest, but Mon had insisted that I take her, so I did.

  We entered my studio; she flicked through my sketches and her eyes lit up. I pointed out the bathroom; she disappeared to change and returned in just a towel. She made us both a drink then I sat her on the stool facing away from me. I tried to pull the towel slightly from her shoulders but she stopped me. ‘What you do?’

  ‘I want to sketch your neckline. Can I?’

  She nodded and allowed me to slip the towel from her shoulders. I stepped back, looked over and was shocked. She had dropped it to her waist. Her thick, black hair now hung down her long, slender back. I loved the pose, took up my pencil and began.

  Once I was finished, I invited her to see. She glided over like a ghost, her hair hanging over her breasts, rubbing gently against her nipples. I felt her warm, soft breath caressing the back of my neck as she stood behind me. She seemed to like her sketch. She came around to face me, undid her towel and let it fall to the floor. She stood naked before me. She was gorgeous, enticing, inviting but I was suddenly tired; my energy was drained and my mind was somewhere else. I tried to focus, picked up the towel and wrapped it back around her waist.

  It may have been the alcohol or simply the lack of sleep but I was incapable and couldn’t go on. She took my hand, led me to the bedroom and lay me on the bed. She pulled off my clothes. I didn’t stop her; it was challenging enough just staying awake - then my heavy eyes gave in - I was gone.

  The sound of knocking on a door dragged me back to consciousness. Looking over at the sun shining brightly through the blinds, it was clear it was day. I threw back the covers, pulled on my clothes and followed the knocking to the main door. I swung it open to be met by Annie the landlady, flanked on either side by two uniformed policemen.

  ‘They come for you,’ she snapped.

  My head felt sore. ‘What do they want?’

  ‘They take you to station.’

  ‘What…why?’

  She didn’t reply. Everybody was so serious so I quickly gathered my things and returned to the main door. Gripping an arm each, they hauled me out of the building and wedged me into the back of a car.

  At the station I was marched down a dimly-lit corridor then thrown into a small, windowless room. It had a wooden table, three chairs and a small fan that wasn’t on. They left me alone and locked the door. I turned the fan on full then reached for my phone but damn; I’d left it at home.

  The door opened and a senior-looking policeman with hooded eyes, thin greying hair and a double chin, stepped in. He sat down, took a file from a folder and opened it. ‘I am Police Captain Nincotte.’

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘You are Michael Walker?”

  ‘Yes, and I’ve no idea why I’m here.’ 

  He took a long, heavy sniff like a hound dog on a hunt then smelt my breath. ‘I can smell the alcohol lingering in the air. You had a few last night?’

  ‘That’s not a crime.’

  ‘It’s not, but taking an underage girl home is. The girl you took last night was only fourteen.’

  The memory that Mia looked younger than the others suddenly jolted me.

  ‘She says you beat and then raped her.’

  ‘What! I didn’t touch her. I only sketched her.’

  He pursed his lips then placed some disturbing photographs in front of me. ‘Take a look.’

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘It’s pictures of bruising on her body.’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t touch her.’

  He pushed some paperwork under my nose.

  ‘I can’t read Thai.’

  ‘Tell me what happened last night.’

  ‘I took Mia back to sketch her and that’s all I ever did. Whatever happened after she left the studio has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Your semen was found inside her.’

  ‘That’s not possible and in any event, how do you know it was mine?’

  ‘It’s all in the report.’

  ‘I told you I can’t read Thai.’

  ‘Her parents don’t wish to press charges, but they will need compensation to cover all the medical costs and trauma. She will require counselling. You need to pay a hundred and twenty thousand baht.’

  The penny finally dropped. This was a scam and I was its latest victim. Well, he’d picked the wrong guy this time. ‘I won’t pay!’

  I used his silence to get my thoughts in order. He had to be a corrupt cop. The evidence was false. My semen inside her; how could he have had that tested so quickly and how would he know it was mine? He’d have to have had my DNA on record and how could he have it here in Thailand. That huge amount of cash would take care of whoever was involved.

  He gathered up his paperwork with a sigh. ‘You’ll have to pay or you’ll go to jail. I’ll give you some time to think it over.’

  He rose and left the room. I could still feel the alcohol seeping from my sweat, fear was beginning to grip me and I was desperately trying to suppress it. One thing was certain and I had to hold on to it like a life raft; I didn’t rape or beat any girl.

  He returned with a smug smile on his face. ‘I have some good news.’

  My eyebrows raised a ‘what’.
<
br />   ‘The bar has agreed to pay twenty thousand. After all, they had employed an underage girl. You pay only a hundred thousand and you can leave today.’

  This blatant attempt to manoeuvre me only confirmed my suspicion that I was being set up and stiffened my resolve to resist it.

  ‘I would pay if I were you; if you don’t you’ll go to prison until a Court date is set. That could take a while and Thais don’t take kindly to farang rapists.’

  It was as if his English was too good and this whole thing had been rehearsed. ‘Mr Walker?’

  I gritted my teeth. ‘I’m not guilty. I won’t pay.’

  ‘The longer you leave this, the more difficult it will be to release you. Are you sure you won’t pay?’

  I nodded - he left. Two policemen stepped in, pulled me to my feet and escorted me out to an over-night cell. It was a small room with a concrete floor, stained walls and smelt like rat faeces. There was no blanket or pillow and when I pulled the cord to the overhead fan, it whirred for a while then stopped dead. I wasn’t given any food or water and as I sat there alone, it wasn’t long before I had fallen prey to an army of ants. Throughout the night my earlier resolve ebbed and flowed. I was afraid and missed my family more than ever before.

  The following morning I was given a bottle of warm water and a small bag of rice with a miniscule amount of sliced chicken sprinkled on top. The rice tasted rough and the chicken was tough. I was allowed five minutes in a small, smelly bathroom while a policeman waited outside. It smelt of burnt hair and came with cracked tiles and a stained squat toilet that hadn’t been cleaned in a while. There was no hot water, no towel, no toothbrush, absolutely nothing. I made the best of it, washed, cleaned my teeth with my finger then tidied my hair.

  Handcuffed and shackled, I was driven to the Court where I was held in a hot holding-cell that smelt of sour milk. There were a few others waiting, mainly Thai, but nobody talked to me. I sat on the floor and waited in fear; what was I doing here?

  I was finally called up and taken to the courtroom that was like any other courtroom back home, except they had prints of Thai royalty on the walls. It all smelt woody and the whole thing felt unreal, but once the three judges arrived, reality hit hard; this was really happening.

  All the proceedings were in Thai. I didn’t have a lawyer or translator and I just stood there listening while several men talked and occasionally glanced back. I wasn’t even allowed a phone call.

  Once the hearing was over, I was brought straight here. I still don’t know what’s going on. I’m just waiting for this to be over. I’ve tried speaking to the guards but they don’t seem to speak English.”

  “Some do,” John stated, “especially when they want money. Have you called home?”

  “Not yet. I didn’t want to worry my family. Do you have any idea how these things work?”

  “They have twelve days to collect evidence and build a case against you. If they’re ready within that time, they’ll take you to Court and charge you with a crime. If they don’t have enough to make a case, they’ll have to let you go. You were framed. It happens, but now you should pay. Didn’t you say your dad’s a lawyer?”

  “Yeah and my grandfather was as well.”

  “Then call home.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t plead guilty to a crime I didn’t commit. I’d rather do the twelve days.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “This is just something I have to do.”

  I set my mind on the twelve days. I would wait it out; they’d have to let me go.

  As the sun set, we were taken inside. John spoke to my neighbour and a little space was given. Once we settled, John turned to me and asked. “Do you still want to know why I’m here?”

  “I do but only if you’re ready to share.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  FIVE

  “HAVING NEVER taken a decent holiday before, I decided on a trip to Thailand, booked a flight and flew out the following week. Mate, I loved it. The friendly people, the food, the females! The ‘working girls’ weren’t like prostitutes that I’d seen before. Here they seemed like regular girls; some even had day jobs and came out at night for some extra cash.

  I met some local farang teachers over here and it wasn’t long before I was offered a job. I returned home, said my goodbyes, moved here and the next few years flew by. I loved my job and after flings with several females, I finally found my soul mate, Nui.

  She taught Thai at the school where I worked and I fancied her. Her perky breasts pushed out against the tight, bright blouses she wore and her bum was firm and rounded like a ripe peach. It wasn’t only sexual though, I mean it was at first, but then it was more. She was smart, sensual - she was the one.

  We went out for a while and it wasn’t long before we fell in love. I proposed as we kissed off the coast of Pattaya. It was real romantic until she saw a used condom floating nearby. She still accepted though and later that year, fell pregnant. I couldn’t have been happier. We shared our savings and put down a deposit on a house in On Nuch.

  Our wedding day arrived and many of her friends showed up, but no one from her family. My mum made the trip over and the guys from school were there; it was an amazing day.

  Life was going great until one morning I heard her scream. I rushed to the kitchen and found her staring at a man at the door. He had bottle-black hair, round, crooked eyes and stank of whisky.

  ‘What you want?’ She asked him in Thai.

  ‘I want only to be a part of your life again.’

  It was obvious she knew him and I knew she could take care of herself. I was about to give them some privacy, when she started laying into him. He stood there and listened with his head bowed. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. She paused then turned to me. ‘This is my father.’

  He raised his eyes to mine. ‘I am Somchai. It is nice to meet you.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I am John.’

  ‘I not be good father. I want second chance.’

  I glanced over at Nui. She nodded - we invited him in. Over tea, we sat down with the wedding album.

  ‘Look beautiful,’ he stated at almost every picture of Nui. She never grew tired of hearing it.

  I excused myself and popped out to the local shop. I wanted a beer with my father-in-law and we were running low. When I returned, my potential drinking partner had gone and Nui was in tears.

  ‘What happened, honey?’ I asked, rubbing her shoulders and wondering when I’d have the chance to crack open a beer.

  ‘My father is ...son of bitch. He not come to see me. He in trouble and need money. It is always same with fucking guy. We not help. He left my family many time, he better dead.’

  She stormed off. I took her a hot chocolate, had a sneaky beer then went out to look for her father. I found him sitting alone in a bar.

  ‘Why you come?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘I wanted a beer with my father-in-law.’

  ‘I want a beer with you too, John.’

  He ordered me a Chang. We drank.

  ‘Nui tell you why she upset with me?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I know it look bad that I ask. She only family I have. Sorry if my English not good.’

  ‘Why do you need money?’

  ‘I have company; have hard time with economy. I borrow from Japan guy, pay interest, make business better, but not get better. Now I can’t pay back. If lose business, lose everything.’

  ‘How much do you owe?’

  ‘Over two hundred thousand baht. Can you help? When company better, I pay you back and more.’

  ‘We just put a deposit on the house and with a child on the way we don’t have any spare cash.’

  ‘I understand. Sorry to ask.’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t help.’

  ‘That okay. I find another way.’

  The following morning he rol
led up at the door and stumbled in with torn clothes and blood on his chin. ‘Sorry John, I had nowhere to go.’

  I handed him some tissues. ‘What happened?’

  ‘The sharks came this morning. I have two weeks to pay or they kill me. Then they come after Nui.’

  ‘Nui! How do they know about her?’

  ‘She put something in paper about wedding. They see her name and know who she is. You better leave Bangkok, I’ll be all right.’

  ‘There may be a way I can borrow the money.’

  ‘Thank you John. I promise I pay back.’

  ‘Don’t thank me yet, this may not work out.’

  I helped him into the living room, laid him on the sofa then stepped upstairs. It had been a while since I’d spoken to my old boss, Briggs but if anyone could stump up some cash at short notice, he could.

  He was a dodgy geezer but he’d always paid cash and had a few quid lying around. I’d worked for him before, delivering packages around Melbourne. He’d never told me what was in them – I’d never asked.

  I took a phone card and called him. ‘Mr Briggs?’

  ‘Is that you John?’

  ‘Yes, how are you?’

  ‘Still rocking and rolling. How are you?’

  ‘I’m good, but I need to ask a favour.’

  ‘So much for the foreplay, what do you need?’

  ‘I need two hundred thousand Thai baht.’

  ‘…What for?’

  ‘My father-in-law ran into some debt.’

  ‘You’re married now? My invitation must have got lost in the post.’

  ‘It was a small do.’

  ‘Two hundred thousand isn’t much.’

  ‘I’ve just put a deposit down on a house.’

  ‘I see. You want me to sort you out?’

  ‘I’d appreciate it but I’m not sure when I can pay you back.’

  ‘Maybe there’s something you can do for me.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I need a package bringing back from Bangkok.’

  ‘What’s in the package?’

  ‘….You calling on a card?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s five kilos of junk.’

  I was shocked, yet didn’t hang up; I feared for Nui’s life. I couldn’t handle the thought of losing her and was actually considering this.

  ‘What are you thinking, John?’

  ‘Can’t you just loan me the money. I’m not a drug smuggler. I don’t want to be.’

  ‘The way I see it is we both need a favour.’

  The phone started shaking in my hand. ‘How would it work?’

  ‘You pick a package up from a guy over there, he straps it on real tight and you get on the flight. My usual guy’s done this a million times but this time he’s not available.’

  ‘What if they search me at the airport?’

  ‘They won’t unless the alarm goes off. You have to make sure you don’t have any metal on you.”

  ‘What if something does go wrong?’

  ‘Then you sit tight. I take care of it.’

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘You text me on the plane before you take off – tell me the flight is on time, but make sure you do or I’ll be onto my guy to bail you out.’

  ‘Who’s your guy?’

  ‘He’s a big Japanese boss out there.’

  ‘I wouldn’t get caught?’

  ‘Everybody gets paid, nothing goes wrong.’

  I closed my eyes as I realized I was about to take the biggest risk of my life. ‘Okay I’m in.’

  ‘You got a pen?’

  I took down the details of who to meet and where then ended the call. Later over dinner, I told Nui my mum needed to see me and I had to fly home.

  ‘I come with you,’ she said with a firm frown.

  ‘You don’t have a visa for Australia.’

  ‘Why you need to see her now?”

  ‘She has a problem.’

  ‘What problem?’

  ‘It’s personal.’

  ‘You tell me John, or I’ll call her.’

  ‘She’s drinking again.’

  ‘I not know her drinking before.’

  ‘I never told you because it’s personal. So don’t call her, you hear?’

  ‘We’re family now John. Not have personal. I not call her, but I’m coming to the airport.’

  ‘Let’s see how you feel on the day.’

  ‘You leave when I’m pregnant. I want a dog.’

  ‘Not that old chestnut again.’

  ‘I want for when you away.’

  ‘I’m never away.’

  She walked off, but at least the die had been cast. I felt guilty for lying but didn’t see another way. I would get in, get out and our lives would be back on track. The departure date soon arrived. I was in the bedroom saying goodbye.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Nui begged with tears in her eyes.

  ‘I have to go. We’ve already been over this.’

  She scowled then pulled up the bed-sheet.

  ‘How you stop your mum from drinking?’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  I wiped away one of her tears, kissed her forehead then backed away. Leaving her this way was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do and lying made it even worse. I thought about her father, about the loan-sharks and knew if I’d told her the truth, she’d never have let me go.

  ‘Wait!’ she screamed. ‘The baby’s kicking.’

  I stepped back, sat on the bed and felt him kick. This wasn’t the first time but it was strange he was doing it now.

  ‘He not want you go.’

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Then go,’ she hissed with angry eyes.

  I picked up my bag at the door, took a taxi and headed to the address Briggs had given me. I arrived thirty minutes later at an apartment building on Thong Lor and after showing my ID to a lady with a glass eye, I was taken to a small room a few floors up that smelt of salty glue.

  Three guys were sat on a rug smoking and playing cards. They glanced over as I stood waiting. One had a slight scar along his left cheek, the second had a silver nose piercing and the third wore shades.

  ‘Where Jay?’ ‘Scarface’ asked.

  ‘He’s sick,’ I replied.

  ‘Scarface’ stood up and clapped his hands like a boss. ‘Nose-ring’ and ‘Shades’ sprang up, stepped over and slipped off my shirt. I was standing in the middle of the room topless, when ‘Scarface’ turned up with a razor and started shaving my back. The bastard cut me and didn’t even care. He laughed, dabbed up the blood with a tissue then carried on.

  ‘Nose-ring’ mixed something in a bowl, which he plastered on my back. ‘Shades’ pressed the package onto my lower-back and ‘Scarface’ taped it on tightly with thick, silver tape. My shirt was thrown back on and I was pushed over to the door.

  ‘Good luck. ‘If get caught, not call us.’

  The others laughed. I didn’t. I stepped over to the door and stepped out. Next stop - the airport.

  Arriving, my nerves were on edge. I had five kilos of heroin strapped tightly to my back in a country where the death penalty still applied. I checked in then stepped over to the security check where three staff followed their routines of passing luggage through a conveyor, X-raying it then checking passengers for any metals.

  I glanced over at a guy with a spiked hair. He was facing me through a free-standing metal-detector, tapping a portable device on his thigh – this was the guy I had to get to past without sounding the alarm.

  I crept up to the first check, emptied my pockets into a plastic container with my shoes and belt then stumbled to the second detector. I stopped and stared at ‘Spike.’ He waved me on. I walked through like a zombie on crack - no alarm. I breathed a sigh of relief, picked up my things, slipped on my shoes and belt then strolled away.

  ‘Mr Lawrence?’ My name rang loudly in my ear. I turned back to see a senior-looking police offi
cer standing before me with two policemen by his side.

  ‘Please come with me,’ he barked.

  I was taken to a room with a table and two chairs. It smelt of wet paint and dust. The door was locked; I was alone and couldn’t get a signal on my phone. I sat back gently on a chair and anxiously waited.

  A farang with dandruff on his shoulders entered in a grey suit and striped tie. He was carrying a brown folder under his arm. He pulled up a chair, slipped some photos from the folder, spread them across the table then picked one out. It showed me standing outside a building with a Thai lady.

  ‘What were you doing at a drug dealer’s?’

  He pulled out some papers and nudged them over to me. ‘I have these to sign. Take a minute to read them by all means.’

  I didn’t look. He waited, watched then laughed. ‘This loyalty always amazes me….We know exactly who you are and who you work for. If you sign you get full immunity. All you need to do is testify against Briggs.’

  He glared into my eyes. I held my poker face.

  ‘I must warn you that once I leave this building, the deal is off. I have the police waiting outside. I wonder what they’d find if they searched you.’

  He slipped out a pen and placed it on the table. I glanced down at the papers - they were in English. I tried to read the words but couldn’t take them in.

  ‘If you don’t sign, then you’ll end up in a prison here, for life. That’s if you’re not given the death penalty. You have a child on the way, don’t you?’

  My stomach turned - how could he know that?

  ‘Are you still waiting for Briggs to bail you out?’

  I held my breath then eased it out slowly.

  ‘It’s not gonna happen. I promise you that. This is the only deal and time is running out.’

  He rose then stepped out of the room. I stared at the documents, but still didn’t sign.

  Ten minutes later he returned, glanced down at the un-signed papers and sighed. He picked up the pen and pointed it towards me. ‘Last chance John.’

  He waited then withdrew the pen.

  ‘Good luck inside,’ he said, then left.

  My heart was beating off the chart as I sat there waiting for Briggs to save me. A few minutes later, the two policemen from before rushed in with a photographer. The camera flashed as I was pulled from my chair, spun around and bent over the table. They lifted up my shirt; cheered when they saw the package then ripped it off and laughed liked they’d won the lottery. The senior policeman strolled in, his officers handed him the package and they all had photographs taken with it, then pictures of the three of them pointing at me.

  Once they had finished, the senior policeman took the package, weighed it in his hand then wandered over to me. ‘Mr Lawrence. You are under arrest for trafficking a Class A drug.’

  I was handcuffed then marched out past a crowd of people who stared. Then, crammed into a car with government plates, I was driven to a police station. I was allowed to make a call. I tried twice. Nui didn’t answer and neither did Briggs.

  When I appeared in Court, I pleaded guilty and was sentenced to death. His Majesty commuted that to a term of life imprisonment, and here I am. I’ve served over ten years so far. I’ve never appealed my sentence, called home and apart from the embassy, nobody knows I’m here.”

  John paused as I sat there transfixed. His story was so vivid that the prison walls had gently blurred into my peripheral vision, then returned with a jolt once he had stopped. I had been so deeply engrossed in his past, so utterly immersed in his world that for a moment nothing else mattered.

  Grateful for the distraction, I became acutely aware of my own body and noticed large beads of sweat forming beneath my temples. I wiped my brow and steadied myself. “Why have you never called your mum?”

  “I couldn’t put her through it, and when Nui didn’t answer, I saw it as a sign that I shouldn’t tell her. I was ashamed of what I had tried to do and I couldn’t handle her seeing me in here.

  “What happened to her father?”

  “I don’t know and I’ve never heard from Briggs.”

  I could see the remorse and pain in his eyes spiking, so I stopped questioning him, left him alone and tried to settle for the night.

  SIX

  MY DREAMS continued to taunt me with images of open fields and lush green grass. It was heavenly, but only added to the trauma each time I woke up. “Sleep well?” John asked as I came around.

  “No, and my dreams seem so incredibly real.”

  “I’ve done ten years and every time I wake up, I forget where I am. You never get used to that.”

  The bell sounded, the others packed away their things and we were filed out into the yard. John handed some coupons to a trustee and we were allowed access to a food-shed.

  Grubby-looking cooks were busy standing over charcoal stoves and fighting over space, while other inmates lingered around waiting for their breakfast. John put our order in; it eventually arrived and was just as bad as what I’d had before.

  After breakfast it was time to wash. We stepped over to the troughs and stripped off under the sun.

  “Remember, mate. Keep your movements to a minimum. It will help keep your body cool.”

  “The water’s filthy,” I complained.

  As I washed, I felt a warm tingling sensation on my foot. I glanced down, followed a stream of water to its source - somebody was peeing on me! I gave him a dirty look, splashed copious amounts of water onto my feet then shook them dry. I backed away, dressed then caught up with John.

  “Where do you get clean clothes?”

  “The lady-boys control all that. The washing lines are round the back, but watch that nobody nicks anything. I stand around and wait.”

  John glanced up at the sun. “What I wouldn’t do for a nice cold beer.”

  “We’ll have one on the outside, one day.”

  Once the day grew tired, we were taken back inside. On the way back to our cell, John spoke Thai to a passing guard, a coupon changed hands and I was taken in another direction.

  “What’s going on?’ I asked.

  “You’re calling home. You have a chance to get out, you bloody well take it.”

  I was marched down the corridor and shuffled into an abandoned office by a guard with a bald head. He handed me an old mobile that felt warm and sticky in my hand. It worked and after three double rings a soft voice answered, “Hello.”

  “Mum?”

  My throat was dry - my voice was croaky.

  “Why didn’t you call me on Wednesday?”

  “How are you, Mum? How’s the weather?”

  “Never mind the bloody weather. What’s going on? Why didn’t you call?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You sound funny. Is everything okay?”

  “No Mum, it’s not. I’m in trouble.”

  “What happened?”

  “How’s Dad? Is he there?”

  “No. He’s at work.”

  “I’ve been arrested.”

  “Arrested! Arrested for what?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t do it. It’s a scam.”

  “What were you arrested for?”

  “I didn’t do it, Mum.”

  “Michael!”

  I paused then the words finally slipped out. “…For beating and raping an underage girl.”

  She didn’t speak. I could still hear her breathing heavily down the phone.

  “Mum?”

  “Is this a joke? I don’t get it - it’s not funny.”

  “It’s not a joke Mum.’

  “You would never do such a thing. I raised you better than that.”

  “Of course I didn’t and you know I never lie.”

  “Well then, what happened?”

  Her voice was not her own - neither was mine. I could sense a high level of anxiety in her voice and knew it would only get worse if I didn’t explain. So I told her of how I’d sketched working girls, how one
had framed me, possibly drugged me, and the mess I was in. Then, when I told her of my decision not to plead guilty and not pay what amounted to a bribe, she predictably hit the roof. “You have to pay!”

  “I have to do what I feel is right.”

  “This is not right, Michael.”

  “They can only hold me for twelve days. Then they have to charge me with a crime or let me go.”

  “What if they do charge you?”

  “The evidence they have is fabricated.”

  “I’m calling your father. He’ll come over and you do what he tells you, you hear?”

  ‘Bald Guard’ tapped on his watch.

  “I have to go, Mum.”

  “Hang in there. Dad’s coming.”

  ‘Bald Guard’ snatched the phone from my hand and hung it up. As I was escorted back to my cell, I could still hear her worried voice in my head.

  “Who’d you speak to?” John asked.

  “My mum.”

  “How was she?”

  “Shocked, upset I hadn’t taken the deal.”

  “So your dad will come and pay you out.”

  “Probably, but I want to do the twelve days.”

  “He won’t let you.”

  “I’ll tell him it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I’m sure he’s not as stubborn as you. The police captain framed you and put you in here - let it go. You can’t beat him. You put yourself through all this, for what?”

  “I need to show him that he can’t get away with it. He can’t continue this scam.”

  “Why you?”

  “I don’t know. It just feels right.”

  “I don’t understand you. Is this a British thing, something about pride?”

  “It’s a bit of that and I don’t want anybody back home even thinking I could do such a thing.”

  “Surely they wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Who knows? I was sketching prostitutes. If I pleaded guilty, they may believe that I was.”

  “It’s your journey mate.”

  John left me alone. I allowed my thoughts to run freely and my father popped into my head. Mum must have called him by now and asked him to come home. I dreaded to think how he’d react when he’d heard the news.